


Last Summer, You Said...

by anomalousity



Series: various drabbles [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousity/pseuds/anomalousity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What,” Steve murmurs, turning his attention back to the sheet beneath his fingertips. “No one’s caught your eye in Brooklyn?”</p><p>Bucky makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. Steve turns, glancing up at his face and taking in the hooded lids, red-bitten lips and light flush dancing high on his cheeks.</p><p>Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Summer, You Said...

Bucky still wasn’t in the apartment when Steve got back from his sculpting class at the community college. His jeans were tossed over the back of a chair, and the dirt from his boots tracked across the apartment, so he’s probably in the building. Maybe playing hackie sack with Jaime and Claire from 12B, or helping Ms. Carlson carry her groceries, or even talking his way out of a bind with one of the girls that liked to hang around their apartment in hopes of a good time. Steve kicked off his slacks and tore out of his flannel, and it was already seven, so he didn’t even bother with finding clean clothes. So he goes about the apartment in nothing but his sweat stained undershirt and his cotton boxers, kicking a pile of books back into a small tower, organizing his pencils, picking up the half-smoked Texaco cigarettes and placing them back into the box. Sometimes the sight of them, half-smoked or crushed to a pulp, makes Steve smile, because while Bucky will roughhouse with him he insists on not risking Steve’s health. But Steve will never tell him that he’s grateful for it.

He was just sitting down at his drawing table before he heard Bucky plodding about. He peers over his shoulder to find him in nothing but the new-ish boxers Steve had bought him last summer, and the dorky knee-high socks he always insists on wearing because, “they’re _fashionable,_ Stevie.” He combs his fingers through his damp hair; perhaps he’d just came from the shared bathroom? And pulls up a chair.

“What,” Steve murmurs, turning his attention back to the sheet beneath his fingertips. “No one’s caught your eye in Brooklyn?”

Bucky makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. Steve turns, glancing up at his face and taking in the hooded lids, red-bitten lips and light flush dancing high on his cheeks.

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be.

Steve feels the blood rush to his face, and he ducks his head back towards the page. He knows it’s a poor excuse at best; he can feel the back of his neck burning under Bucky’s gaze as he runs his thumbs over the edges of the page. Maybe he should’ve taken care to dress in something a little less revealing; he can feel the peaks of his nipples pushing against the thin cloth of his shirt, the all-but-ruined boxers not doing anything to hide the way he’s filling up, though if he squeezes his knees together they can pretend it’s not here.

“Nah,” Bucky says, voice like silk as it reaches his ears. “I thought we should stay in.”

“That why you’re all dolled up?” he asks, trying his hand at Bucky’s roll whenever they do this. It’s hard; let Steve be the first to admit that the girls aren’t as sweet on him as they are on James Barnes with his Hollywood looks and swoon-worthy smirks. He swallows past a lump in his throat at the thought of those lips smeared in lipstick, preferably by Steve’s mouth. “You’re too good to me, Buck.”

A soft snort. “What‘re you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “Maybe you just like being pretty; you do spend a lot of time blowing smoke up your own ass.”

And some laughter; is this how Bucky is with the dames? Steve hopes not, at least that’s what he tells himself because truthfully it’s making him a little weak at the knees. He sets his hands on his legs and turns in his chair, fixating Bucky with his best smirk.

“Lucky for you, I think you’re damn pretty, like that Vivian Leigh on the big screens.” He pushes out of his chair and goes to stand in front of Bucky, who’s wide eyes are pensive as they droop down his body, slow like molasses. Steve doesn’t even try to feign cool-headedness; he palms himself through his underwear, smiling when Bucky’s tongue darts out to lick his lower lip.

“Huh,” he mutters. And then, his hands are on Steve’s hips, tugging him out of his boxers first, then he’s standing to tug off his undershirt.

Steve always thought it was sort of strange how Bucky liked to look at him when they had their nights in. He’s nothing special; he didn’t need the boys at the docks telling him as much as he already knew. He’s small, built more like a dame than a man, and narrow in the waist. Not to mention what he’s got between his legs isn’t much, not even if he was still a teenager.

So he reaches up and digs his fingers into the waistband of Bucky’s shorts, pulls them down his legs but not before stooping down to press a kiss to the crest of his hip. He watches the goose bumps erupt over the pale flesh, hears the light hiss of Bucky’s breath when his mouth slides from his skin.

Backing up, he knows why the girls go for Bucky. He’s built like any guy should be; _better_ than any guy should be. Wide in the shoulders and thighs, trim hips and hairy chest, he’s a dream in and of himself, even ignoring the larger than should be allowed cock swinging low and flushed between his thighs.

He’s beautiful; Steve knows that much. It’s why he never believes him when the compliment is reflected back to him.

“You’re so good to me, Buck,” he says, arching up on his toes to kiss the side of his mouth.

Bucky just rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Stevie, you look real good like this.” Just to add effect to his words, he brings the pad of his thumb up to Steve’s chest, rubbing at the nipple until it’s peaked and flushed under his touch before pulling away. “Like a doll.”

He frowns and reaches over to pinch Bucky’s thigh. “Like those big guys in the magazines.” He pinches again, smirking when Bucky cries uncle before pulling away.

“Yeah, you’re real damn scary lookin’, like those assholes that hang around the gas pumps, jerk.”

“You know it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but brings his hands up to Steve’s jaw, angling it up before pressing his lips to Steve’s again, warm and soft. He’s a great kisser, another thing that Steve isn’t. Well, he doesn’t believe when Bucky tells him that he is, but it’s not like he’s got anyone else to provide a concurring or dissenting opinion. Steve just isn’t physical attractive.

Which is why, when he feels Bucky’s hand brushing down his chest, fingers trialing a hot blaze over his stomach before the tips are inching over the downy blond hair around his little cock, his stomach drops.

“Buck-”

“You’re _fine_ Stevie, how many times do I have to tell you?”

 _Until I actually believe you_ , Steve thinks, but he stops mouthing off in favor of angling his lips back onto Bucky’s, opening his mouth to Bucky’s tongue as his clever fingers slip over Steve’s dick.

Admittedly, he likes being touched. Especially by hands as smart as Bucky’s, as curious even. He likes to fuck just as much as he likes to be fucked, but more often than not he chooses to get fucked. Not because he knows Bucky will like it more, but because he’s never, not once, gotten Bucky to come with his dick inside him.

It’s a sore spot, and it’s probably unreasonable, but hey everyone has their shortcomings.

They move to the bed shortly after Steve pulls Bucky’s hand off, mumbling about not wanting bruises from the hardwood flooring. Bucky scoops him off his feet and carries him over, ignoring his protests even as he gently sets him down on the bed, carefully rolling him over onto his stomach and spreading his legs apart.

“I can walk, you know,” Steve says, though his voice hitches a little when something warm and wet swipes over his crack. A tongue, his mind supplies.

Bucky pulls away, pressing a few kisses to the cheeks before mumbling, “I know,” and going back to his ministrations.

Steve takes it all in stride. He likes being loosened up, especially by Bucky’s tongue. It’s even better when it’s his tongue and his fingers, the slow burn of being worked open tingling down his spine and pooling in his groin, heaving groans out of his lungs and burrowing his face into the pillows when more embarrassing mewls escape his throat. He can feel Bucky moan his appreciation into him, the blunt tip of a finger pressing in alongside the wet flat of tongue.

He arches, uncaring if their neighbors hear when he moans out Bucky’s name. It’s one of his favorite things; Bucky’s big on getting reactions out of Steve when they do this. He gets off on it.

“Yeah, Buck, just like that,” he says, urging him on. “C’mon, I can take another, I’m not gonna break- _Oh_.”

The second fingers slides in and accompanied by the tongue and the first, Steve’s feeling it all the way in his toes. He cries, begging for more and more, but Bucky just pulls away to say that he’s still so tight, that it’ll hurt if he does it now.

“I don’t fucking _care_ , just do it.”

Bucky gives him a little more attention, despite his protests, before flipping him onto his back and bracing himself between his legs. Another thing Bucky likes; being face to face. Steve’s man enough to say that he does too, because Bucky’s absolutely beautiful when he comes. He doesn’t understand what Bucky gets out of it though, maybe a better angle.

With a warm hand on his hip and another pulling his leg onto Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky lines himself up with Steve’s hole, casting him a questioning look before nodding and pushing in.

And yes, this is definitely Steve’s favorite position.

Bucky’s eyelids flutter as he sinks in inch by agonizing inch. His hand, the one splayed over Steve’s hip, slides down to tease at his cock, trying so hard to curve up towards his hip but not quite big enough to do more than stand erect, bouncing of his balls when Bucky’s hips snap against the flesh of his ass.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, wrapping his too big hand around Steve and giving a gentle tug.

And, before Steve can argue, he’s pulling out again, just as slowly as he pushed in. He builds up real fast, giving a few cautious thrusts before being sure that Steve can take him and then getting to business with harsh, targeted thrusts to Steve’s prostate. It’s excellent; it’s _more_ than excellent and Steve finds himself pushing back into it every time Bucky pushes into him.

Their combined moans and grunts echo throughout the room, punctuated by high keening of each other’s names and soft moans of ‘yeah’ and ‘just like that’ and ‘oh god, you’re so tight’. Steve doesn’t even care that his heart’s beating a timber that’s going to leave him breathless and Bucky worried, because he’s surrounded by heat from both sides.

He’s gasping out Bucky’s name when hot lips press fevered kisses onto his mouth, warm shared breath pumping into Steve’s lungs and rasping back into Bucky’s. He’s close, he’s _so_ close and he can feel his legs tensing around Bucky’s waist, urging him in, and arching up into his touch.

“Ah, fuck!” he cries, balls tensing and pumping himself into Bucky’s hand, uncaring that he’s probably shouted loud enough for the entire floor to hear him.

Bucky follows close behind, fingers leaving a bruising grip on Steve’s hips as he pistons himself in and out, so rapidly that Steve wonders where he’s lost his rhythm, wondering if he’s going to fuck them right through the bed and into 16C. He spills over inside of him, however, and cuts of Steve’s thoughts with five warm spurts before collapsing on top of him.

“Christ,” he breathes, rolling of off Steve’s body. “ _Christ_ , Steve you’re fucking amazing.”

He rolls his eyes, though it’s hard to ruin his post-coital ‘glow’ as Bucky likes to call it. “You were doing all the work, punk.”

Bucky laughs before wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and pulling him flush to his chest. Steve knows that Bucky’s just doing it to check his breathing, to see if his heart’s working just fine because they know the risk that something as remedial as sex carries. His arms are tense around Steve’s waist until he deems him fine, out of danger’s way, and settles him back onto his side, tossing an arm around his waist.

Steve just smirks at him through the whole process. “Satisfied?”

“Fuck off,” Bucky bites back, but he’s fighting back a smile.

“Already did that.”

It gets him a pinch in the ass, but Steve doesn’t even mind. He just rolls up and presses all five and a half feet of his body against Bucky’s bigger form, leaning his head up against his chest and not minding one bit how Bucky’s chin comes to rest on his cheek. The sweet lull of his breathing is cozy, always rocks Steve to sleep despite his best efforts.

When Bucky’s fingers draw a shape into his back, however, he’s startled awake. “What?” he asks, glancing up into Bucky’s hooded eyes, catching the strange lurking tightness that he’s been seeing for the past few weeks every time they’re cozied up like this in bed.

“Nothin’,” Bucky replies, same as always.

Well, Steve knows that it’s nothing because this pattern’s reflected on him too, now, and that ‘nothing’ is just ‘not now’. Two can play at that game, he supposes, before tucking himself back against Bucky and pulling the sheets up to their waists.

“Whatever,” he mumbles, pressing his ear against Bucky’s chest.

They let the quiet sounds of Brooklyn, the deep navy twilight coloring of the room, and the soft, unspoken whispers of each other’s breathing lull them to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST ORIGINAL TITLE WOW. No, I'm actually trash.
> 
> Yell at me on [tumblr](http://buckybaarnes.co.vu/).


End file.
